


Right Where She Needs Him

by ninkybean



Category: Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninkybean/pseuds/ninkybean
Summary: She finds it easy to tease him. George isn’t so serious that he can’t take a joke and she isn’t so childish that she takes it too far. Their relationship has found a happy balance between playful banter, political debates and ramblings about stupid things like space and time and aliens.She shouldn’t find it so easy to flirt with him.





	1. No Escape

She finds it easy to tease him. George isn’t so serious that he can’t take a joke and she isn’t so childish that she takes it too far. Their relationship has found a happy balance between playful banter, political debates and ramblings about stupid things like space and time and aliens. 

She shouldn’t find it so easy to flirt with him. Emma has been friends with George since she was in nappies and he was climbing up trees to get away from the stench of said nappies. At 22 and 26 the two of them should have an established relationships of best friends who never cross any boundaries because that would ruin 22 years of companionship, and it would be weird for John and Isabella, and her friend Harriet has a crush on George anyway and Emma is anything if not a good friend.

Or so Emma tells herself, anyway.

She often finds herself in situations where they do cross the boundary though. In poorly lit bars, Emma rests her head against George’s shoulder as the feeling of too many gin and tonics and a whole night of dancing catches up on her. She feels herself falling into sleep, and it’s not her fault that his shoulder is always so comfortable and at exactly the right height for her to lay her cheek down and shut her eyes for (she swears) only a few moments. She hears George whispering “lovely Emma, would you like to go home?” to which she can only mumble in agreement. She wakes up the next morning with two paracetamol, a glass of water and a smiley face on a post it note. She ignores the feeling of topsy turviness in her stomach for another sort that compels her to run to her toilet bowl. 

It happens when they’re at home too. Really, she wonders, can she get no escape? It’s 9 PM on a Friday night and after gorging themselves on saag paneer they collapse on the sofa in Emma’s flat. She thinks nothing of it when she stretches her legs out to rest her feet in George’s lap. When George grasps her ankle with his fingers, she tells herself it’s the strenuous activity of walking from the kitchen to the living room with a belly full of Indian that has her heartbeat racing, and not the patterns that George is carefully etching onto her ankle bone.

It’s limited to touches and looks and stomach flips though. She could never further it. Emma’s had her fair share of men causing unwanted strife in her life, and she doesn’t think her heart would take it if she told him she loved him and he laughed and told her “I love you too, you big twat” with all the love that a best friend has for another best friend. Because that’s what they are, aren’t they? Best Friends. When Elton basically forced himself on her in the back of a taxi they were sharing home who was it that shot up as soon as he heard, promising to “defend her honour” or some ridiculous notion that came out of his mouth? When Frank and Jane walked into the pub holding hands Emma, although definitely NOT in love with Frank, still felt a bit dejected as she saw her first proper attempt at something resembling a relationship sort of, shatter, before her eyes. George was there, and he held her hand as tightly as Frank held Jane’s. Some sort of really shit DJ was playing in the back, and George sidled up to him and requested the song that Emma always used to cheer herself up. It was George who danced along to La Bamba with her, as ridiculous it looked in the middle of the pub with everyone watching. He always just seemed to be right where she needed him.

It’s like this for months- Emma cant’t really place when it had all began. To find yourself in the thick of something was daunting to say the least, and she finds that she doesn’t know how to act around George anymore. She can’t jab him in the side with her elbow anymore, because whenever she touches him her stomach does a weird loop thing. When they sit on the sofa together and she feels her legs creeping slowly towards him, seeking out the warmth of him like a missile, it’s like a bucket of ice water has been thrown over her head. “You alright?” George asks her, noticing the deer in headlights expression she has plastered all over her face. She nods and focuses all her energy on the lion cub that David Attenborough is narrating on, and not the way George’s lopsided grin brings out the cliche rom com character in her.

Emma resigns herself to a life of unrequited love and misery, destined to become a spare part to George when he eventually finds the love of his life. She really isn’t in the mood for Harriet’s 21st birthday party, even if she is her best friend and Emma is never one to turn down an opportunity to get drunk and dance all night. She puts her best foot forward, though, and dons her most sparkly cocktail dress in the hopes that shining like a disco ball on the outside will make her feel the same inside too. When she arrives at Harriet’s flat there is only two other people there- Robert Martin and, of course, George.

This is going to be a long night.


	2. Thank you God and La Bamba

The first thing Emma does is seek out the alcohol. She knows that with a jägerbomb (or two, or three) in her she might be able to function like a normal human being who does NOT have a debilitating crush on their best friend. 

George notices this, of course. “Slow down there Em,” he grins at her, the stupid lopsided one, “I’d like to take you home in an uber, not a body bag”.  
“You’ll be taking me home?” Emma questions, her heart beat racing at what that implies even though he’s ‘taken her home’ more times than she can count.  
“Obviously. Whilst you have a talent for taking in copious amounts of booze, I’m not sure your strength lies in actually holding it.”  
Emma just scowls. Before she wouldn’t be embarrassed to be a drunken mess with George, but now, now, she doesn’t trust any words that may come out of her mouth whilst under the influence. 

She heads out of the kitchen and into the living room, where more people have arrived. Jane and Frank are here, looking sickeningly in love. When Emma spots them, it seems that George does too. He appears at Emma’s side with a look of sympathy. She really was never in love with Frank. They flirted a lot, and even nearly kissed, but when Emma sees him with Jane she knows that they were simply meant to be friends. Jane and Frank seem to just fit, lock and key. 

“Is that Highbury’s answer to Brangelina, or do my eyes deceive me?” Emma smiles at the pair of them. Jane just rolls her eyes and Frank smirks like the cat who got the cream.  
“I’m far too handsome to be compared to Brad Pitt, Emma.” Frank teases, and Emma notices how Frank’s flirting doesn’t stop, it just follows him where he goes.  
“Careful Frank.” Emma whispers lowly, “anymore self inflation of your ego and you won’t be able to fit your head through Harriet’s door.”  
“I’ll be forced to stay here and party all night then, won’t I? Sounds like cause for celebration to me. Do you want to do some shots with me Ems?” And with that he’s off, Jane following not as a shadow but as another half. A more sensible half at that.

3 shots of vodka later and Emma cheers when the music on the speaker is turned up considerably louder. “My neighbour’s gone out now, so we can have the music louder. And don’t worry Em. La Bamba features on my playlist at least four times.” Harriet reassures Emma.  
“Four is never enough!” Emma cries. “More shots!”

George catches her walking, or rather more stumbling, to the loo. “Bonjourno George. I need a wee and you’re in my way.”  
“Emma.” George stops her, and this makes Emma sober up a tiny bit. Only a little though. But the expression on his face is just a bit more serious than she was expecting at Harriet’s party, and Emma isn’t quite sure how to react.  
“George,” she replies, face mimicking his own stoic expression.  
“Emma, I’d really like to talk to you in a bit. I know it’s a weird time but I really don’t want to wait.”  
This makes Emma feel queasy. She knows Harriet has a crush on George; he gave her some of his gallantry usually only reserved for Emma and danced with her when she was feeling rejected and humiliated by Elton (God, what a nob he is, Emma thinks to herself on the side). But Emma fears the worst. Does George reciprocate Harriet’s feelings? It is her birthday after all. Birthdays are a great time to realise that you love someone. Maybe George wants to announce it, like some idiot out of a shitty rom com, and Emma will have to stand there and watch and feel her heart slowly being torn to little bits.  
“George-“ Emma starts, but hears the riff of Ritchie Valens and the scream of her name calling her to the music. Before she knows it, she’s bolting towards the living room with George’s hand in her own, thanking God and La Bamba for saving her in more ways than one.

After La Bamba, and some Abba, and eventually some naff Taylor Swift song that Harriet insists on putting on and everyone indulges because it’s her birthday, Emma finally finds herself with a minute to pause. She can’t stop for too long though, because Harriet is belting out Love Story and it’s only a matter of time before George emerges and claims himself as the Romeo to Harriet’s Juliet. She steps outside onto the tiny balcony for a bit of fresh air. George is already out there, staring over the canopy of London flats and offices. 

“Can we talk now, Emma?” George asks, and he sounds so young and nervous that Emma sighs against him.  
“Go on then.” She manages to let out.  
“Are you okay? You’ve been a bit wild tonight. I can’t help but feel you’re trying to ignore some things, maybe?”  
“I’m fine, George, I promise.” It’s a lie, but she can’t make herself look foolish and weak in front of him, not when she’s supposed to be happy for him. “Ignore what exactly?”  
“Frank’s an arsehole for what he did to you, and it must hurt a bit to see him so happy with Jane.” George visibly straightens as he talks, like he’s uncomfortable with this information.  
“Frank?” Emma’s confused now. He thinks she’s upset over Frank? “George, I couldn’t care less about Frank and Jane. They’re perfect for each other! Honestly, I could never be anything more than friends with Frank anyway. He’s too exhausting.”  
“You’re sure, Emma?”  
“For God’s sake George, yes! How could I be in love with Frank when there’s-“ Emma can’t stop the words tumbling out of her mouth; the cold air is chilling but previous drinks warm her insides.  
“There’s who, Emma?” George lets out, slowly, painfully.  
“It doesn’t matter. I’m drunk. Shall we go back inside? I’m sure Harriet’s missing you.” Emma winces when she hears the slight pang of bitterness to her tone.  
“Why would Harriet be missing me?” George asks, perplexed. “She’s busy crying her eyes out to Celine Dion, and no doubt Robert is busy comforting her.” He laughs. There’s no degree of jealousy that Emma can detect. “Guess they’re finally making a go of things, no thanks to your meddling.”  
“Robert and Harriet? And you’re alright with that?” Emma asks.  
“Why wouldn’t I be— Em.” George turns to face her now. “Did you think me and Harriet were seeing each other?”  
“...Yes?” Emma cringes. “But if you and Harriet aren’t-“  
“Neither are you and Frank.” George hastily interrupts her.  
“No!”  
“Then I don’t really know how to broach this Em, but I’m going to have to try, because it’s killing me inside.”  
Emma can only stare at him, the bucket of ice and the stomach flips all joining together to create one big cacophony. “I love you Emma. And not like a best friend. No, that’s not true. I love you like a best friend but also like someone who wants to snog you all the time. And hold your hand, and watch really shite rom coms with you, because you pretend to hate them but I know you secretly love them. This is really fucking new, and weird, and I was sure you were hung up over Frank so I never-“ George never finishes his sentence because Emma launches herself at him, covering his mouth with her own with a kiss that feels like coming home.  
“We’ve been a bit stupid, haven’t we?” Emma whispers against George’s lips after the cold creeps in again.  
George nods, and pulls her closer so they fit together, lock and key.  
Inside, the party is getting going again as Don’t Stop Believing blasts out. But outside the air is cold and the pair have visible breathing, and Emma knows she’s in the right place. She’s with George, and George is always right where she needs him to be.


End file.
